by T. Frohock
Diago counted twenty. More troops were certainly on their way.
This is going to be a massacre.
“Carlos?” Miquel aimed his rifle at one of the distant nefilim. “Carlos Vela, is that you? I’d know that shambling gait anywhere. You traitorous son of a bitch!”
Guillermo placed his hand on the barrel of Miquel’s gun. “He’s mine to judge.”
Miquel’s jaw worked, but he didn’t shoot.
Diago whispered to Guillermo, “I’ve got a bead on Jordi if you can take Samyaza.”
“And then his soldiers will open fire and send us into our next incarnation. Wait . . . He wants something. Let’s see if we can make it work for us.” Guillermo watched his brother.
Jordi walked forward, stretching forth empty hands. “Don’t shoot, and my men will hold their fire.” He strolled a few paces toward them and then paused in the center of the tracks. “A truce, my brother. You and me. We must speak of the future of the Inner Guard’s Los Nefilim division. What do you say?”
Guillermo glared at his brother. “Give us a minute.”
“I’ll give you two.” Jordi retreated ten meters.
Diago kept his bead on Jordi but monitored the other nefilim. They seemed to be in no hurry to start shooting. Given the skittishness of the forward guard, Diago guessed this group had passed their smoking comrades in the corridor above.
Guillermo kept his gaze locked on his brother as he muttered, “Anyone with a bright idea, it’s your moment to shine.”
Nico hissed, “Destroy Jordi’s signet and you destroy Samyaza’s power.”
Diago murmured, “Samyaza’s power, or Samyaza’s power over Jordi?” Because those were two very distinct things.
“Both,” Nico replied. “The angel is crippled. He cannot sing his spells unless he commands another nefil’s song. While he can do it with any nefil that lets Samyaza into his mind, his relationship with Jordi is different. Samyaza is seeded in Jordi’s mind through the tear.”
Diago thought back to Nico’s description of the wasp and the spider. “It’s a symbiotic relationship.”
“Exactly,” Nico whispered. “Take out the tear, and you’ve shattered the link between them.”
Guillermo nodded. “Okay. Rafael, Nico, and Miquel, you work on opening that portal. Diago, can you give them the cover of darkness?”
Diago glanced at the impregnable void behind them. “Leave it to me.”
Guillermo lowered his voice. “Get to work while I stall Jordi. I’ll buy us as much time as I can.”
While Rafael, Miquel, and Nico gathered near the glyph, Diago shouldered his rifle. He snatched a handful of black and turned to assess the soldiers.
The Pervitin left them susceptible to psychoses, which bred hallucinations. And what better weapon to wield against them than the terrors within their own minds?
Shaping the first note of his song, he massaged the shadows between his palms and nurtured his dark emotions. Soon Jordi’s men would remember why the daimons were feared.
22
Rafael turned to his father and Nico, noting the Italian’s nervousness. Recalling his papá’s notes on the Key, the angelic song that shifted the realms, he suddenly realized what he needed to do.
The Key is about the angels’ exile, their anguish at leaving their home, and their desire to return. To open the realms, they needed to depend on one another. Each angel had to carry their part to perfection, and if one faltered, then another had to lend their strength. It’s about trust. We must trust one another . . . help one another . . .
“Stand on my right, Nico.” That gave the Italian some distance from Miquel. Turning his attention to his father, he whispered, “And stop scaring him. We’ve got to work together.”
Miquel glanced at the soldiers gathering on the platform. “Okay.” He met Nico’s gaze. “You did good back there. A truce.”
The Italian nodded, and to Rafael’s relief, he relaxed somewhat. As relaxed as we can be standing at death’s door. Turning his back to Don Guillermo and the soldiers, Rafael faced the portal sigil.
Singing the first note, he led them through the scales, testing their range. As he did, he recalled his dream.
Miquel gave him the secret: Your voice is the key to all your power. Move the breath of darkness from your diaphragm up through your throat and into your song.
“This is it,” Rafael sang as he watched their faces. “On three . . .” He counted off and they joined their song with his.
Encouraged by the approval in Miquel’s eyes, Rafael gestured for Nico to carry the higher notes while he joined Miquel in forming the bass. Leading them into the piece bel canto, Rafael guided them through the song without words, without emotion, to simply create the sound necessary to vibrate the glyph’s threads.
Nico’s gaze moved away from Rafael and to the soldiers at the platform. His voice cracked with his fear. The light around the glyph dimmed.
Rafael smoothly shifted his range from his chest to his head to reach the higher registers. He lifted his hand and attracted Nico’s attention. When the other nefil locked gazes with Rafael, he found his way into their song again. Rafael smiled and nodded, rolling his voice back down to a deeper pitch.
The lines of the glyph strengthened and shimmered with veins of gold and red. The abyss beyond the glyph lightened . . . black became gray and gray became white.
A shadow moved just past the sigil. Rafael recognized the shape of Ysa and, beside her, Violeta. But they’re not there. That’s just my wish. I just wish they’d come and save us. But it’s up to us to save ourselves.
Closing his eyes, he focused entirely on their small chorus.
Ysabel watched her mother and Cyrille test the sigil’s lines with various tones. They probed it carefully, as one would a bomb.
Rousseau lit a cigarette and offered it to Ysa. “Try and relax. They’re going as fast as they dare.”
Declining the cigarette, she merely whispered, “I know.” If they forced their song on the ward, they risked snapping it and trapping Rafael in that portal realm.
Beside her, Violeta folded her arms across her chest and glared at the sigil as if she could pry it open by sheer willpower alone. When she noticed Ysa looking at her, she winked and mouthed, All for one.
Ysa gave her a brave smile and then returned her attention to the angels.
One of Rousseau’s guards whistled a warning. Someone was coming. They turned as one to see Suero loping toward them. He carried a map under one arm.
“I found where the coordinates lead.” Breathless from his run, he squatted on the ground and spread the paper on the boards. They gathered around and shone their torches on the map. “Here.” He jabbed a spot deep in the Pyrenees. “There is an old fort in this pass.”
Rousseau looked up. “Charles, what time is it?”
A short, surly nefil who looked quite at home in the tunnels stepped forward smartly. “Four, madame.”
“Cyrille?” Rousseau called to her angelic companion. “Any progress?”
The angel shook her head. “The sigil must be operated from both sides simultaneously.”
“Shit.” Rousseau tossed her cigarette to the boards and crushed it beneath her boot. “The mortals will be arriving for their shifts soon. We’re going to have to break off until tonight. Charles, station a guard on that glyph.”
“I’ll stay, too,” Ysa said.
Juanita turned and said sharply, “You’re needed aboveground.”
“I’m needed here.”
Rousseau said gently, “You’re no good to your people if you’re not rested. Cyrille will stay and watch over the glyph.”
Violeta stepped forward. “I’ll stay, too.” After a sharp glare from Juanita, she added, “With your permission, of course, mademoiselle.”
Ysa touched Violeta’s arm. “Yes. Yes, I want you here. Report to me immediately if there is any change.”
Violeta bowed her head. “I’ll be your eyes and watch for him.”
/> Juanita’s gaze flickered from one to the other, but she raised no objection to the arrangement.
Ysa shut off her torch. It was no use arguing. Both her mother and Rousseau were right. Yet their reasoning did nothing to negate the feeling that she was somehow abandoning Rafael.
As they gathered their things, Ysa turned back to the sigil one last time. The edges seemed brighter. Frowning, she walked toward the ward.
Juanita’s head snapped up. “Stay back, Ysa.”
“Look at it,” Ysa whispered. “It’s brighter.”
The clatter of tools diminished as the nefilim turned to look.
Violeta rushed to Ysa’s side. “Listen to your mamá and stay back. If it becomes active, it might take you.”
“Hush.” Ysa gestured for silence. She heard the distinct sound of Rafael’s voice. It was distant . . . Like a radio turned down low. And he’s singing. “Everyone, be quiet.”
Juanita shook her head. “Ysa, I know you want to find a way to Rafael, but there’s nothing—”
“Wait.” Cyrille cocked her head and lifted her hand. “She’s right.”
Ysa moved closer to the glyph. Red and gold flames shimmered along the edges. A bright flash temporarily blinded them all. When Ysa opened her eyes again, Violeta stood between her and the sigil, a protective ward already formed by her quick hands.
Blinking against the images floating over her retinas, Ysa looked past her friend to see figures on the other side of the ward. They stood in a loose semicircle.
Rafael, Miquel, and an unfamiliar nefil raised their voices together. Beyond them was Diago and her father. Ysa would know their stances anywhere. They faced someone in the distance.
“It’s them!” she shouted.
Juanita’s eyes went wide. She reached out to touch the glyph.
Cyrille grasped her wrist. “Easy, my sister. You’ve been too long in your mortal form and you forget yourself.” She switched to the angelic language.
A tear slipped over Juanita’s lashes as the angels trilled to one another.
She misses Papá. The thought took Ysa by surprise. All these long months and days, and she never considered that her angelic mother might suffer from the mortal affliction of love.
Cyrille smiled and brushed the tear from Juanita’s cheek. “Come close, everyone, and do exactly as I say.”
Juanita turned, and Ysabel felt a thrill go through her at the sight of hope on her mother’s face.
Violeta watched the glyph with shining eyes. It was only then that Ysa realized Carme wasn’t on the other side.
Guillermo listened as Rafael led them through the chant twice. Not since Metatron had a nefil exhibited such range. If we can get him out of here and fully trained, none will ever stand against Los Nefilim again.
Jordi checked his watch. “Two minutes are up, Guillermo.”
Nodding, Guillermo stepped forward three paces. Diago moved so that he remained two steps ahead of Guillermo. Jordi approached until only ten paces separated them.
From the corner of his eye, Guillermo saw Diago blow into his cupped palms. He knelt and poured darkness onto the tracks. Gravel jittered and danced and took a life of its own. Millions of glittering scorpions formed a blue-black wave of sound.
Jordi scowled at Diago. “Call off your daimon.”
Guillermo motioned to Diago, who rose and bowed his head.
“As long as your troops don’t move, nothing bad will happen to them,” Diago said.
“They’ll follow orders,” Jordi snapped.
“And so will Diago.” Guillermo evaluated the situation. The soldiers might still fill the tunnel with gunfire, hoping to score a random hit, but in doing so, they stood a good chance of striking Jordi, too. And Samyaza won’t let that happen. The wasp needs his spider.
Guillermo glanced at Jordi’s finger, where the Grigori’s tear churned in shades of pale green and umber, and then up into his brother’s eyes. It seemed as if a film covered his irises, deep and sickly green, which was the same shade as the tear in Jordi’s ring.
In the distance, Samyaza seemed content to wait by the platform. Probably because he can hear every word through Jordi.
Reaching into his pocket, Guillermo found his lighter. He touched the metal and warmed it with his flesh. Juanita had given it to him on one of their many anniversaries. She’d inscribed it with sigils for wisdom. Whenever he felt the need to make a decision of import, he held on to it; although the glyphs carved in the metal were symbols only. Any wisdom came from him and no one else.
And right now, I’m not sure if what I’m about to do is wise at all. Gripping the lighter in his left hand, he waited for his brother’s first move. “You wanted to parley. Talk.”
Jordi tilted his head as if listening to a voice only he could hear. “Send Rafael to me.” Though he spoke to Guillermo, he watched Diago’s reaction.
What mad game is he playing now? “What?”
“He swore himself to me.” Jordi lifted his hand, and the Grigori’s tear pulsed. “He touched his lips to my ring and took an oath. He’s mine.”
Guillermo gestured at the portal sigil without turning. “He’s busy right now.”
To his surprise, Jordi laughed. “Do you think that boy can save you? Let them try. Rafael is talented, but the song that controls the glyph is complex. He’ll never work through it in time. You’re going nowhere, Guillermo. Hand him over.”
“I don’t think so.”
Jordi’s humor was short-lived. A scowl returned to his features, and he growled, “The boy swore that he would submit himself to me in exchange for the life of his father, Miquel de Torrellas.”
Cupping the lighter, Guillermo flicked the lid once. Then he used his thumb to begin the first lines of a sigil on the metal’s flank. “That sounds like an oath taken under duress.”
“It’s not yours to judge.”
“Of course it’s mine to judge. I’m still the king of Los Nefilim.”
The comment had its intended effect. Rage surged through Jordi’s irises.
Keep him off balance. “And that’s something we need to talk about . . . judgment and our firstborn lives.” He held his breath and watched uncertainty flit across his brother’s countenance.
In the distance, Samyaza edged forward.
Piqued his interest, too.
Jordi shrugged. “You had me murdered, Guillermo.”
“I gave you every chance, Jordi, every chance to accept our father’s decree—” Guillermo added more lines to the glyph on the lighter’s body. He needed his brother to speak so he could wind the vibrations of Jordi’s voice into the sigil.
“You stole my birthright and then you wanted me to accept it? And when I protested, you sent your swordsman to do your dirty work. I don’t know what you want, Guillermo. My blessing?”
That wasn’t exactly how it had happened. Adonijah didn’t protest. Rather, he’d tried several machinations to force his way onto Solomon’s throne.
It didn’t matter. That’s how Jordi remembers it, and the truth is I didn’t have to order his death. But he couldn’t undo the past, and if he wanted to stop the killing in the present, he had to find some way into his brother’s heart. One of us has to back down. “I’d do my firstborn life so much differently if I could, but I can’t, Jordi. I can’t. You’re not Adonijah anymore. I am not Solomon. The past is dead.”
“No!” Jordi took a single lurching step forward. “The past lives on and on and on, because we cannot escape it. Everything you did, I remember . . .”
“Remember, yes!” Guillermo roared back at him. He inhaled and traced another sigil on the lighter. Lowering his voice, he whispered, “But can you forgive?”
Jordi froze. “What?”
“Forgive me? Can you forgive me?” Guillermo held his breath. Because I want this. I started over with Miquel, and then Diago. I won them back to my side. If I can win Jordi’s trust, then maybe these terrible wars will end.
He traced another line on his li
ghter and connected the glyph’s symbols. Running the pad of his thumb over the ridges, he hoped he had enough. It will have to be. “Please, just think about it.”
Jordi tilted his head. “Are you saying you’re wrong?”
“I’m saying that I was wrong to have you murdered.” Guillermo shifted his position. From the corner of his eye, he saw the portal hadn’t opened, but the door seemed to be cracked. Glittering lines flashed. A surge of golden light enveloped the ward. Almost like the one Diago and I entered.
Beyond the glyph, the darkness faded. A shape moved.
Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Guillermo frowned.
As Rafael led them through the chant, the sigil paled and Guillermo clearly saw someone moving on the other side. He recognized the shape of his daughter. Oh, Ysa, my sweet Ysa.
Aching to feel his family in his arms again, he almost didn’t hear Jordi when he asked, “And my birthright?”
Turning back to his brother, Guillermo exhaled slowly. Careful, now, or you’ll never hold them again . . . “In my firstborn life, when I was Solomon, I was wrong about many things.”
Jordi spat in disgust. “Obfuscation! You talk in circles and say nothing! You haven’t changed.”
“That’s not true!”
In the distance, Samyaza must have noticed Rafael’s progress on the ward. He formed the first line of a sigil. Simultaneously, Jordi’s hand rose and fell, mirroring the angel’s movement.
Snipers moved into position. One aimed his rifle at Rafael.
Diago moved between the shooter and his son. Spreading his fingers, he grabbed a handful of shadows and began another spell.
I’m out of time. Guillermo swallowed hard.
Jordi smiled and showed no signs of resisting Samyaza’s control. His voice dropped low, barely audible beneath the sound of Rafael’s song. “Then give me the ring, Guillermo. If you’re sincere, hand over the signet.” He traced the next line of the glyph in tandem with the Grigori.
With his hope sinking, Guillermo realized his brother didn’t struggle against the angel’s influence. “I’m sincere, Jordi. With all my heart, I want to make peace between us.” Guillermo passed his left hand over his right and pretended to remove the signet. “I’m so sorry.” He tossed the lighter.
